


I Know My Luck Too Well

by xslytherclawx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (but it's all canon), 1980s, Angst, Bisexual Remus Lupin, Canon Compliant, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Past Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Post-First War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-03-09 11:59:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18916552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xslytherclawx/pseuds/xslytherclawx
Summary: He tried, at first, to stay in the Wizarding World. His werewolf status wasn’t widely known, thanks to Dumbledore’s secrecy, and James’s decision to risk his own life to save Snape and protect him. As far as anyone knew, the only black spots on Remus Lupin’s life were the events of 31 October and 1 November 1981 – events which, more often than not, only served to garner him pitying looks and whispers.(or: Remus Lupin in the mid-1980s)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stuff_and_nonsense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuff_and_nonsense/gifts).



He tried, at first, to stay in the Wizarding World. His werewolf status wasn’t widely known, thanks to Dumbledore’s secrecy, and James’s decision to risk his own life to save Snape and protect him. As far as anyone knew, the only black spots on Remus Lupin’s life were the events of 31 October and 1 November 1981 – events which, more often than not, only served to garner him pitying looks and whispers.

He hated it, but it was better than the whispers he knew he’d get if his status as a werewolf  _ were _ known to general society. Sometimes he would have the paranoid thought that people  _ knew, _ but that was absurd. Only a select few people ever  _ had _ know – he could count them on both hands – and half of them were dead or in Azkaban.

His reasons, in the mid-1980s, for deciding to try living as a Muggle were pretty straightforward: his boyfriend was in Azkaban because he’d betrayed their best friends and killed their  _ other _ best friend in the streets (along with a dozen innocent people), and – well, he’d learned that missing work around the full moon each month caused some… suspicion after the first few times.

His mother had been a Muggle, and he was intimately familiar with Muggle culture. He’d grown up with electricity, television, telephones, records, automobiles, and his mother had even taken him to a Muggle synagogue as a child.

It had been easy enough to falsify some documents and get a job interview. From there, he got the job – one with paid time off, even – and Muggles didn’t know that werewolves were real, so he didn’t have anything to worry about with that. He lived in an isolated cottage with plenty of wards and protective spells to ensure that he wouldn’t accidentally hurt someone (or at least as close as he could).

For a while, it was mundane. He took comfort in that. Mundane was safe. Besides, it really wasn’t like he had anyone left in the Wizarding World – just his father, and he wasn’t so adamant about not using magic that he wouldn’t apparate down to visit his father just often enough to placate him.

He worked a boring office job that he was probably overqualified for despite his actual limited experience with Muggle education. It was mind-numbing, but here, he knew, taking off around the full moon each month would be unlikely to arouse suspicion. He’d take mind-numbing and mundane for safe.

He fell easily into the routine. He’d drive from his cottage to the train station, take the commuter rail into town, and take the bus from the train station to the office. He’d work for four hours, eat his packed lunch in the break room, work for another four hours, and then take the bus back to the train station, the train back to his car, and his car back to his cottage. Once home, he’d cook dinner (or, most nights, put in a prepared dinner), have a cup of tea, and read a book. He showered before bed, made sure his wards were up and his doors were locked, and tried not to think about how lonely it was to sleep alone.

If he thought too much about what it was like to sleep alone, his mind would wander to Sirius, who was in a cell in Azkaban – did they even have proper beds in Azkaban? Wizards didn’t have to abide by any Muggle laws prohibiting (or even  _ defining) _ torture. He remembered how angry that had made Lily when she’d found out, how James, before he’d fancied her, had rolled his eyes and told her, “Calm down, Evans.” He remembered how Lily had called James a selfish, entitled prat who only thought about himself.

He certainly hadn’t thought  _ then _ that they’d get married. He could only imagine what they’d both have to say about him taking the coward’s way out after they’d died. Maybe the James and Lily in his head were right – maybe he was a coward. But they were dead. If they weren’t, he knew his entire life would be different. Brighter. More involved. He’d go back to Sunday night dinners at their house, get to see Harry regularly – maybe…

No.

There was no use thinking about Sirius.

Sirius had fooled  _ all _ of them.

Sirius had kissed him and sucked his cock and fucked him and told him he loved him, that he was special, brilliant, kind, wonderful, and even “everything that’s good in this fucked up shithole of a world, Moony.”

Remus wondered if Sirius had ever even loved him.

If it had all just been an act. A part of his long game.

If he hadn’t just smelled out how lonely Remus had been. How desperate he’d been to be loved, to have someone see him as more than the sum of everything terrible that had ever happened to him. 

Sirius had told him once, when they’d all been very drunk, that he’d marry him the minute he turned forty, “only because I can’t go around wasting my youth – marriage is for when you’re old and content to stay home and play cards.”

James, newly married at that point in time, had told Sirius to piss off and gone on to extol the virtues of marriage. 

Looking back, Remus was sure the longing had been apparent on his face.

(Sirius had taken him back to the tiny flat they’d shared, sucked his cock, and told him how much he loved him and how grateful he was that he wouldn’t end up like his miserable parents, or worse, like his dickhead brother).

He remembered how Sirius had reacted when he’d found out his brother had died. Well, that wasn’t quite right. When he’d found out his brother had been murdered on Voldemort’s orders for trying to back out. How Sirius had called him a soft little idiot, how he’d drunk himself into a stupor, how he’d sobbed with only Remus, James, and Peter as witnesses. How angry he’d been that Regulus hadn’t reached out for help.

But what if he had? What if Sirius had had a hand in his brother’s death, too? After all, if his brother had been trying to leave the Death Eaters – Sirius had laughed when they’d arrested him. After he’d killed Peter. After he’d betrayed James and Lily and seen their dead bodies and handed Harry over to Hagrid. Surely Remus couldn’t put fratricide past him, especially not with how Sirius had loudly proclaimed to anyone who would listen (including Regulus, on multiple occasions) that James had been the brother he’d never had.

Besides, the next day, Sirius had woken up hungover and then gone about his day as if nothing of note had happened. He’d never mentioned Regulus again.

Remus sighed and got out of bed. 

There was no point in trying to sleep when his thoughts got like this. It wasn’t the first time he’d gone to work not having slept the night before, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Some part of him thought maybe he ought to visit Sirius. It wasn’t like he thought he’d get clearance to see him in Azkaban, but he could try. He could ask why he’d done it. He could ask if he’d ever really loved him. If everything had been a lie.

He didn’t think he really wanted to know the answer.

Right now, there was some part of him that just couldn’t let go of the delusion that Sirius  _ had _ really loved him. Maybe Sirius had been approached by Voldemort’s inner circle before his brother had been killed. Maybe his brother had been killed because Sirius had refused to join, and maybe – maybe he was forced into it. Maybe he’d really loved Remus. Maybe he’d really loved James like a brother. Maybe he’d been sobbing as he followed his orders to kill Peter, the only one who could sell him out.

He knew, logically, that he was being ridiculous.

Sirius had been a spy. He’d been raised from birth to be a liar, a pureblood supremacist, and a Dark Wizard. None of them had understood how difficult it would be to strip that away, to ensure that Sirius had compassion for the vulnerable. They all knew how talented he was at lying. They’d known all along. And still they’d trusted him.

The most that Remus could really hope for was that Sirius had loved him in spite of that. That being a Death Eater hadn’t meant that he couldn’t fall in love with a werewolf. 

Not just a werewolf, no. A werewolf with a Muggle mother and a father who hated Dark Wizards. A werewolf who was so painfully desperate for friendship that he hadn’t questioned why boys as gorgeous and charming and popular as Sirius and James had wanted anything to do with him.

He’d thought it was because he was clever. Maybe because he had a stronger moral compass than either of them, and could draw lines that they shouldn’t cross.

How stupid he’d been.

He tried to bury himself in Dostoyevsky, but his thoughts wouldn’t stop swimming. Maybe Dostoyevsky, with his moralism, wasn’t the best idea at the moment, anyway. He went back to his bookshelf. Hugo was just as much of a pain. He hadn’t touched Mann, Forster, or Vidal in ages. He doubted he would any time soon. 

He found a volume of short stories by Guy de Maupassant, and maybe the crushing predetermination on French naturalism would provide a better outlet than Dostoyevsky. After all, moralism would dictate that he deserved something. That James and Lily wouldn’t have been betrayed by their best friend. That Harry would grow up with loving parents.

That he wouldn’t have been bitten in the first place.

That his contributions to the war effort and his N.E.W.T.s and teacher recommendations would have been worth something. That werewolves would get the protections, rights, and dignity they deserved.

After all, there were many more werewolves like  _ him _ than there ever would be like Greyback. Of that, he was sure.

Most of them lived in America, or France, or somewhere that  _ had _ basic legal protections.

Or, he supposed, it was possible that he wasn’t the only one hiding out in Muggle society.


	2. Chapter 2

He ended up at a pub for lunch, because he’d been too distracted to actually remember to pack his. He ordered chips and a pint of their cheapest beer. He supposed he could have gotten a sandwich from Tesco. That probably would have been the rational thing to do. Chips, after all, hardly counted as a healthy lunch option. If his mother could see him, he knew how she’d cluck her tongue at him and brush his hair out his eyes (telling him he needed a haircut) and offer to make him something that was  _ actually _ nutritional.

But his mother was dead.

He supposed it was a good thing, relatively speaking, that she’d died of cancer instead of an attack by Death Eaters. At least this way, he knew that Sirius had had nothing to do with her death. Wizards couldn’t give someone cancer, even if they seemed to be immune themselves.

The memory of Sirius holding him as he sobbed when she died threatened to overtake him, so he finished his beer and ordered another.

“You look like you’re having a hell of a day,” someone said.

He turned his head slightly to see a bloke who looked to be about his age, with dark hair, dark eyes, and freckles. He looked familiar, and after a moment, Remus placed him as one of the blokes in sales. He couldn’t remember his name. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever known it.

“Something like that,” Remus said, grateful for the distraction.

“You work in HR, right?” he asked.

Remus nodded. “Yes. Just started in July.”

“I’m fresh out of uni, too,” the bloke said. 

“I’m not – fresh out of uni,” Remus said. He’d never  _ gone _ to university, but his falsified documents said he’d graduated three years prior. Either way.

“Sorry,” the bloke said. “My mistake.”

“Don’t – don’t worry about it,” Remus said. “It’s an easy mistake to make. It’s not as if my other job prospects were great.” Sweeping floors and washing dishes and doing odd jobs for people who didn’t think he was worth spitting on definitely didn’t count as excellent job prospects, and he’d never been stupid enough to think he’d get away with a Ministry job without someone catching on.

“Did you read for history, too?” the bloke asked.

“Literature,” Remus said. It had seemed the easiest subject for him to fake. After all, anything too grounded in Muggle society would doubtlessly out him sooner or later. Muggle books, though, he’d read plenty of. He and Lily had even started a small book club with a few other students in fourth year. (It had fallen apart when James had caught wind of it. Remus hadn’t been too disappointed, because Snape had insisted on joining, and had proceeded to make Remus deeply uncomfortable by repeatedly devaluing Muggle literature, society, and culture).

“Oh,” the bloke said. “You know… I see it. You look the type.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “I do?”

“Mate, have you looked in a mirror lately? Or met any other literature students?”

“Do you look like a typical history student, then?” Remus asked.

He grinned. “Where’s the fun in answering that?” He gulped down his beer. “I’ll make you a deal: I’ll tell you my name only if you swear not to go on with that Monty Python bit.”

Well, that was strange. “I’m not in the habit of making fun of people’s names. I’d be a right hypocrite if I were.”

The bloke raised an eyebrow. “I’m Bruce.”

Oh. Well. Remus  _ had _ seen  _ that _ Monty Python bit. “Your parents can’t have known about that bit when they named you. Mine, on the other hand… they named me Remus without a thought on how that would impact my life.”

“And how  _ has _ it impacted your life? Unless you’ve got a brother named Romulus who’s tried to kill you.”

“Nothing so dramatic as that. I  _ have _ had to try to determine if it’s more professional to call myself  _ Remus, _ or if I can get away with RJ.”

“And what’s the J short for? Jupiter, or something equally Roman?”

Remus smiled in spite of himself. “John.”

“That’s  _ disappointingly _ normal,” Bruce said. 

“I know,” Remus said. “My ex used to tease me for it.” He was surprised that he didn’t feel any shame or pain in admitting that. Of course, Sirius had thought his own middle name (Orion) had been much  _ more _ normal than “John.”

“You’re lucky.  _ My _ ex used to sleep with other blokes.”

That hadn’t been what Remus had been expecting. He looked over at Bruce, who didn’t  _ seem _ put off. He sipped calmly at his beer.

“That’s a fair bit worse,” Remus said. He didn’t  _ think _ Sirius had ever cheated on him, but he’d probably have preferred to that to what Sirius  _ had _ done. Of course, he couldn’t  _ say _ his ex was a mass murderer. That would only raise questions.

Bruce shrugged. “I’ve got over it.”

“Still,” Remus said. “That’s a terrible thing for her to have done.”

“Him,” Bruce said in a low voice.

“Sorry?”

“Him. My ex.”

Someone unaccustomed to living a double life – someone who never had to worry about divulging some great secret that could ruin them or get them killed – might not have caught onto the way that Bruce’s body tensed, how he squared his shoulders, how he averted his gaze. Remus did.

“Terrible of him, then,” Remus said easily. He was well aware that they  _ weren’t _ in a gay pub, and he kept up with the news, but this much he felt safe doing.

* * *

He started going to the pub for lunch more often after that. He socialised with his coworkers. It was surprising how much simple things like that could do for his mental state. He probably ought not to have isolated himself like he had. He’d always thought that he was just fine alone, and maybe that was true, but he’d always felt better with James, Peter, and Sirius by his side.

Of course, his Muggle acquaintances – or maybe even  _ friends – _ couldn’t exactly share his every burden. No one could know that he was a wizard, let alone a werewolf, and there was something isolating about that. Hell, he hadn’t even told any of them that he was interested in blokes – not even Bruce, who’d admitted to dating a man. It wasn’t that he thought Bruce would react badly (the others, perhaps, but not Bruce), but he still couldn’t bring himself to that admission.

Even if he was hiding what felt like  _ every _ integral facet of himself, he did feel much less alone. He knew that no one would accept him as he was – anyone who might have was already dead – and he was terrified of slipping up, at least when it came to his sexuality, which he hadn’t really had to hide in Wizarding society.

He didn’t know the last time he’d spoken to classmates from Hogwarts anymore, really.


	3. Chapter 3

One day in early October, he got a phone call from Mary Macdonald, the only Gryffindor in their year, besides him, who was alive and not in Azkaban. She said she got his new number from his father – he’d known he’d given her his number in school, but he hadn’t known that she’d kept it, or even that his father still used his Muggle telephone. 

She wanted to meet up with him. Catch up over a pint. Reluctantly, he agreed to meet her at the Three Broomsticks one particular Saturday afternoon. He’d fancied her in school, before Sirius had completely overshadowed everyone else in his life, and they’d managed to actually be friends until the war had driven him underground. It’d be nice to see her again.

Probably.

He met her at the pub, and was surprised by how little she’d changed. She still had the same golden blonde hair (though now she had bangs and wore it big and teased out), the same wide brown eyes, the same freckles dusting her nose. She wore Witches’ robes thrown over a clearly Muggle ensemble of an oversized shirt, trousers, and stilettos.

He hadn’t worn robes at all, which caused a few people to look oddly at him. At least he’d worn a proper shirt with a collar, and not one of the Muggle band t-shirts he’d acquired through the years.

Mary grinned when she saw him. She waved him over, and ordered him a pint of Butterbeer.

“I always forget how addictive it is,” she said as he sat down. “How are you?”

“I’m well,” he said.

She looked him over with a critical eye. “You look better than the last time I saw you. But then I’d hope anyone would.”

“When…?” Remus began, and then he remembered. The funeral. Right. “Never mind. You look lovely, as always.”

Mary blushed. “Always a flatterer.”

“I am not,” Remus said. 

“I like wearing Muggle clothes on the weekends,” Mary said. “Robes are  _ fine, _ I suppose, but they lack the easy mobility of Muggle clothes. Besides – what have Wizards got against cotton? I’ve never understood that.”

“Don’t ask me,” Remus said. “I work at a Muggle office. I haven’t worn robes in ages.”

“Oh? I always sort of had you for the next Minister,” Mary said.

Remus felt himself blush and forced a laugh. “I wouldn’t want anything like that.”

“Why not? You’re clever enough for it.”

Because he was a werewolf, and he wasn’t stupid enough to completely destroy his entire life. Besides, he rather thought that he’d be ill-suited for the position, even if he were a normal wizard. “You know me. I’ve never been one to seek out power.”

“But people like you make the best politicians,” Mary said. “You don’t want people who  _ want _ power in charge.”

“And what do you do?”

Mary laughed, and it did something funny to Remus’s insides – something he’d sort of thought had died years ago. “Ministry. Public affairs.”

“I see,” he said.

“Bagnold’s only popular because she was in office when – she’s only popular because of things that happened outside of her control.” She didn’t elaborate, but Remus knew that she meant Voldemort’s downfall.

“I’m not running for Minister, Mary.”

“Fine, fine. But if you change your mind, let me know.”

“I’m not going to change my mind.” He was a werewolf. Even if a few people knew – fewer now, that James and Lily and Peter were dead – he wasn’t going to risk outing himself like that. That was something that would be sure to come out if he so much as  _ considered _ it. Besides… he really  _ didn’t _ want to be Minister.

“You do look very good, though,” Mary said. “Where’s the Muggle job?”

“Thank you,” Remus said. “It’s in Manchester.”

“Manchester?”

Remus shrugged. “It’s not as bad as all that. My coworkers are decent.”

“I dunno that I’d go back to having to hide a part of myself,” Mary said.

Remus was a bisexual Half-Blood werewolf. He never had a choice. Even at Hogwarts, he’d had to hide a part of himself from nearly everyone. “I couldn’t stand the pity.” It was mostly true, at least. “It was national news. People I’d never even met before would talk about it.”

Mary hummed. “I can imagine. So you decided to live as a Muggle.”

“Why not?” Remus said. “It was easy enough to pretend as if I’d gone to university. I can only imagine they never actually phoned the university to ask.”

Mary, a Muggleborn, raised an eyebrow and asked, “Where did you say you went?”

Remus shrugged. “Cardiff. Figured if I’d said Cambridge or Oxford, someone would have caught on.”

“Not a bad choice,” Mary said. “But now you’re living in Manchester.”

“Outside of Manchester,” Remus said. “And before you ask – yes, I commute the Muggle way.”

“No, thank you,” Mary said. “I think Muggle culture has more to offer than most of us give it credit for, but Muggle transit and Muggle commutes are not anything I miss.”

“I did apparate down here,” Remus said. “It was a nice change of pace.”

“Do you spend much time in Wizarding society at all anymore?” Mary asked.

Remus shook his head. “Not really.”

“I can’t say I  _ blame _ you,” she said, “I sort of feel, personally, like I’ve still got to have contact with both. Of course –  _ both _ of my parents are Muggles.”

“I visit my father occasionally, but he always tries to convince me to live with him, and that isn’t something I want.” He didn’t elaborate on it, because it was easier to let Mary make the assumption that his father had been lonely since his mother had died (which was true) than admit that his father still felt guilty over events that had happened twenty years ago.

They talked for a few hours while they drank Butterbeer. After three or four Butterbeers – and they really weren’t strong drinks at all, honestly – Mary grinned. 

“Oi, you know – I was completely mad for you at Hogwarts?”

Oh. Remus hadn’t known. Even if he had, he’d have hardly expected her to confess to it now. 

“But then you were with – well. I mean, I sort of thought…”

“That I was gay?” It wasn’t an uncommon assumption, really. Lily had thought so for years. 

Mary blushed. “Yeah.”

“I’m not,” Remus said. He sounded more sure of himself than he thought he’d ever truly felt. “’Course, I was in love with him. I like men in every way it’s possible to like men – but I feel the same way about women.”

“Oh,” Mary said. “I – yeah, I get it.”

“I was, honestly, completely mad for you, too. Well, before…” Before Sirius. 

Mary took a sip of her Butterbeer. “D’you – would you like to see my flat? I think it’s a proper mixture of Wizard and Muggle, and I’d like your opinion.”

It was as flimsy a pretense as any, but Remus couldn’t really bring himself to care. “All right,” he said.

* * *

He hadn’t expected any of this when he’d left his cottage that morning, and even though he wanted to see Mary naked – and surely absolutely gorgeous, he had gigantic, ugly scars all over his body, and he didn’t want her to see them. Not yet. 

Mary was smart enough to draw the right conclusion, besides. 

So they had sex in the black night, and there was something about how her nails scratched his back that made him feel alive for the first time in years. 


	4. Chapter 4

By the time October 31st rolled around, he still hadn’t called Mary. In his defense, Mary hadn’t called him, either, and it wasn’t as if she didn’t have his number.

He had half a mind that morning to call out work. The only reason he didn’t was because he’d already called out for the full moon earlier that week, and he couldn’t justify doing it again so soon. He was all too aware of how quickly he could be fired for missing too much work.

He trudged through the day without paying much attention to anything – he knew he didn’t get any work done. He really hadn’t expected to. 

When he had lunch at the pub just across the way, he saw Bruce, who smiled at him. Remus couldn’t smile back.

After work, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he ended up at a gay pub. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even been in one – it had to have been before James and Lily had gone into hiding, before they’d all become too involved in the Order to risk letting their guards down for a few drinks. But Voldemort was dead, and so were James and Lily and Peter, and Sirius was in Azkaban, responsible for all of their deaths.

Maybe Remus wanted to sleep with another man again. Maybe he wanted to sob in a corner over his ex- _ boyfriend _ – and a gay pub would be the place for that. He didn’t know why he went to the pub, and he truthfully didn’t think it was very important  _ why. _

Two drinks in, he saw Bruce sitting at the bar. And Bruce saw him.

Remus pretended as if he was doing something very important. Bruce walked over, beer in hand. “All right?” God, he looked so good. Fuck, how long had it been since Remus had slept with another man? Four years to the day, wasn’t it?

“Yeah,” Remus said. “All right.”

“Good,” said Bruce, “because you look like  _ shit, _ mate.”

Remus shrugged. “My best friend – three of my best friends, actually – died four years ago today,” he said. “I  _ feel _ like shit.” He didn’t mention Sirius, because that would be far too painful. He’d always thought of himself as an intelligent person, but everything with Sirius was only evidence to the contrary. And he knew it.

“Fuck,” Bruce said. “That’s – really shit. I’m sorry, Remus. Really.”

“Well, it’s not as if  _ you’re _ to blame for any of it.”

“But still…”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Bruce said.

He was right, but Remus hadn’t come to the pub for emotional talks and comfort. That much he knew. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s really not fine, but it happened four years ago. And it was a car crash. So – no one really saw it coming.”

“Well,” Bruce said. “If you want, you can talk to me about it. I’m a good listener. Or… whatever you want.”

“Honestly, I just want to drink.”

“What are you drinking?”

Remus looked down at his glass. “Whiskey.” It was the cheap stuff that burned his throat on the way down, but he’d never been one for the taste for beer, and wine drunk was far too pleasant for how he felt today.

Bruce raised his eyebrows. “All right. Any particular sort?”

“It’s all the same to me.”

“Got it,” Bruce said. “Wait a moment. I’ll be right back.”

Was Bruce actually buying him a drink? Remus watched as he went to the bar, and came back with two glasses of whiskey. So. Evidently.

* * *

He was definitely drunk when he leaned in and kissed Bruce just a few hours later. And he knew he was the one to initiate the kiss. It was one of the stupider things he’d done in his life, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Bruce’s lips were soft, and his stubble was rough, and it had been so long since Remus had properly kissed another man.

The really mad thing was that Bruce kissed him back.

He couldn’t believe it. 

They snogged in the dark back of the pub. Bruce was, as it turned out, a fantastic kisser, and it didn’t take very long before hands were in hair, on waists, tugging close, squeezing arses, fumbling under shirts.

“I live just around the corner,” Bruce said. “Do you…?”

“Yeah, sure,” Remus said. “If you want to…?”

“I do.”

And, fuck, Remus wanted it, too. “All right.”

“And what about HR?” Bruce teased.

“I really don’t think they’d know what to do if we told them we were in a gay relationship – or shagging, or whatever.”

“You’ve got a point,” Bruce said lightly. “Can’t imagine corporate would take that well.”

Ten minutes later, they were stumbling in through Bruce’s doorway, which really  _ was _ just around the corner. 

“We should try to be quiet,” Bruce said. “I’ve got flatmates, and I dunno if they’re home.”

Flatmates. Right. He was a few years younger than Remus was, and honestly, it wasn’t as if most of the people Remus knew who weren’t married  _ didn’t _ have flatmates or housemates. Remus himself was hardly normal in that respect. It was just another aspect of normality that being a werewolf had robbed him of.

“Sure,” Remus said. “So… your room?”

“‘Course. Come on. I  _ have _ got my own room, at least.” 

Remus followed him to the bedroom. It was small and a bit cramped, but the bed was at least a double. Remus had always hated having sex on a single bed. 

He didn’t have long to dwell on it, because Bruce was kissing him again, and Remus was tugging down his trousers, and they were ripping off each other’s shirts, trying to get skin on skin. Remus was still a bit too drunk to really worry about his scars, and Bruce didn’t linger on them or ask what they were from, even though he doubtlessly noticed them. It looked like he’d been mauled by a wild animal. It wasn’t far off from the truth. Bruce didn’t really act as if he noticed them at all.

“Do you want me to fuck you, or do you want to fuck me?” Bruce asked.

“Fuck me,” Remus said. “Have you got – condoms? And – lube, or something?”

“Yeah,” Bruce said. “Give me a moment. You can – lay down, if you want.”

Remus went to lay down on the bed, and Bruce rifled through the bedside table. He came back and kissed Remus again. He was surprisingly gentle for how drunk they both were, and more than once, Remus had to ask him to go harder, rougher – until he couldn’t fucking think straight.

He fell asleep in Bruce’s bed, in Bruce’s arms, and it didn’t even register to him that he hadn’t thought of Sirius once.


	5. Chapter 5

Sleeping with your Muggle coworker was probably frowned upon. Especially when both parties involved were men.

But, well, it had been four years to the day since the last time Remus had slept with a man. Maybe it was a fitting day for it.

It had been easier,  _ After, _ to find women to sleep with. Maybe that was an excuse. Maybe Sirius had fucked him up more than he’d thought. Maybe he was just afraid that those issues would come out with a man – any man. It wouldn’t be all that surprising, really.

He woke up hungover in Bruce’s bed. He definitely didn’t think he could face Mary now. Not calling her had been shitty enough – not calling her because he’d been busy sleeping with a Muggle coworker was next level.

Bruce wasn’t in bed, so Remus put on his pants, trousers, and shirt and walked out of the bedroom. He felt self-conscious about his scars, and the last thing he wanted was for one of Bruce’s flatmates to see them. He didn’t even like seeing them on his own body. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to see them on him.

Remus found his way to the kitchen, where Bruce sat at the table, wearing nothing at all and sipping a mug of what Remus could only assume was probably tea or coffee. He looked up when Remus came in.

“Morning. Tea? Or one of my flatmates has got coffee?”

“Tea’s fine, thanks,” Remus said. He was mercifully not too hungover. He thought he could manage work, at least. It wasn’t as if he’d thought he’d be particularly productive today, anyway.

Bruce poured him a cup of tea. Remus tried not to stare at him. He knew how much he hated being stared at. He’d never even truly been fully comfortable with Sirius staring – never truly believed that Sirius had been telling the truth when he told him he thought he was beautiful. He was a monster, and Sirius had known that better than anyone.

“You want to come over tonight?” Bruce asked.

Remus looked at him then. Sober, in the light of day, he could see the freckles that dusted Bruce’s shoulders. “Huh?”

“Tonight,” Bruce repeated. “Do you want to come over? We haven’t got to if you don’t want to, but…”

“You’d actually want to do this again?”

“Sure,” Bruce said. “Is that so difficult to believe? You’re smart, funny, kind… and last night was fun.”

Yes. It  _ was _ difficult to believe. But Remus knew better than to say that outright. “I’m bisexual,” he said instead.

“All right,” Bruce said. “Is that your way of saying you’ve got a girlfriend? Because I’m fine with it if she is.”

“I haven’t got a girlfriend.” Mary didn’t count, right? They’d shagged just the once, and they hadn’t discussed anything afterward. Besides, she hadn’t written or phoned.

“I don’t mind that you’re bisexual. I’m asking you to come over tonight, Remus. I’m not asking you to move in with me.”

Right. Because Bruce was reasonably well-adjusted, and normal blokes had casual sex without panicking about it afterward. “You  _ really _ don’t care that I’m bisexual?”

“No,” Bruce said. “I don’t. Do you care that I’m gay?”

Remus shook his head. “No.”

“If you don’t want to come over again, you can just tell me. I won’t be offended.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Remus said. “It’s more…”

“Yeah?”

_ “You _ actually want to?”

“Sure,” Bruce said. “Why not?”

Because he was a werewolf, and if he’d learned anything in his life, it was that any happiness he’d have would be fleeting. Even if Bruce didn’t know that he was a werewolf. It was only a matter of time before he found some reason to dislike and distrust him.

But, well, even if he knew it’d go to shit, fucking Bruce was a damn sight better than wanking alone in his sad little cottage. And it was nice not to be alone.

“All right,” he said. “Tonight.” He just had to get through a whole day at work – and another painful anniversary – first.

* * *

He went back with Bruce right to his flat after work. It was a bit of a commute (though nothing compared to his own), so he wasted no time on pleasantries, and shoved Bruce against the wall and kissed him the moment the flat door was shut behind them.

“I’ve got flatmates,” Bruce said. “They’ll be home any moment – my room?”

“Works for me,” Remus said. 

Bruce led the way again, and Remus half expected his nerve to give out now that he was facing the very real possibility of having sex with a man who  _ wasn’t _ Sirius without a drop of alcohol in his system – but it didn’t. 

Instead, it was easy to kiss Bruce, to trail kisses down his neck and untie his tie and unbutton his shirt. He didn’t waste very long fumbling with Bruce’s belt, and Bruce started working at undressing him as Remus slid his hand down Bruce’s pants. Bruce returned the favour, and why the fuck hadn’t Remus done this sooner? 

Bruce kissed him, warm and needy. It had been so long since someone had kissed him like that – even with Mary, it hadn’t been like that. Remus kissed him back, and let his guard down just a bit. Until, that was, he felt Bruce tracing one of his scars with his free hand.

Remus pulled away. 

Bruce blinked at him. “All right?”

“Fine,” Remus said. “Can you – please not do that?”

“Do what?” Bruce asked.

“Touch my scars. It’s – a….” he trailed off, unsure of how to address it.

“Sorry,” Bruce said. “I didn’t realise – I won’t do it again. Promise.”

Promise. They’d only known each other for a few months, and Remus had only told him that he was  _ interested _ in men the night before. They weren’t together, and Remus wasn’t even totally sure that they were friends, but still…

“Thanks. It’s just…”

“Hey, you haven’t got to explain yourself. We both want to have fun tonight, yeah?”

“Er… yeah?”

“So – it’s not a problem for me. You don’t want me to touch your scars – I’ve got it. No big deal.”

“Well, not – you can  _ touch _ them.” They were all over his body, after all; it’d be difficult to touch him without touching the scars, too. “But…”

“No special attention, or anything. Got it. We’ve all got little things like that.”

Oh. Remus hadn’t expected anything like that. It was… nice. Remus kissed him and led him to the bed. They fucked for hours, and he hadn’t realised how much better it would be when they were sober. Bruce was enthusiastic and warm. Remus kissed the freckles that dusted his shoulders. Fuck. 

He fell asleep in Bruce’s arms, and in the morning, he woke in Bruce’s arms. Bruce kissed his cheek. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“You want breakfast?”

Breakfast. He could manage that. 


	6. Chapter 6

When he got home Sunday afternoon, he found several owls perched outside his window. He supposed he was just lucky that they hadn’t found him at Bruce’s flat in Manchester.

He unlocked the door, let the owls in, and picked up the pile of letters other owls had left behind. As he’d expected, they were mostly from people he hadn’t heard from in ages. He didn’t need to look to know that it was mostly classmates. One was from his father, who said he’d tried to phone, but, when Remus didn’t answer, he’d decided to write to see if he’d come over for dinner one night that week.

Another letter came, surprisingly, from Professor McGonagall. He didn’t bother reading it.

The last was from Mary. She apologized for not writing or calling sooner, citing several minor political scandals, and asked if he’d like to get dinner. He set the letter aside. Mary knew that he was a wizard, and presumably that he was bisexual (she had, after all, known about him and Sirius, and then he  _ had _ slept with her), but she didn’t know that he was a werewolf.

She would never accept him if she did know. And how long could he truly hide something like that from her? She was a witch, and a clever one, at that. He hadn’t made it a year sharing a dormitory with James, Peter, and Sirius without them finding out. It was just a matter of time before Mary found out, too, and unless he kept her at arm’s length, the best he could hope for was her disgust and avoidance.

He wrote his dad back, because he really  _ didn’t _ want to phone him and hear his pity, and said that he was busy this week and would get back to him.

* * *

Mary rang that night. Remus didn’t even know why he picked up the phone. But he did, and he had enough decency not to hang up on her.

“I’m sorry it’s been a while,” she said.

“I got your letter,” Remus said. “It’s fine. I understand. I’ve been busy, too.”

“Oh, good,” she said.

There was an awkward silence.

“So – dinner?”

He could tell her now. He knew he needed to tell her before things got any more serious. But he knew that face-to-face would be best. “Dinner,” he agreed.

They sorted out a time and a place, which was more a matter of determining when Mary was free, because Remus really didn’t have any structure to his evenings, barring the full moon. Fortunately, she was free Tuesday night, so he really only had to avoid Bruce for two days at work. He could do that. (At least, he thought he could).

* * *

“So,” Mary said. “How have things been with you?”

Remus shrugged. “Nothing terribly exciting.” The most exciting thing to happen to him since he’d seen her last had been sleeping with a Muggle coworker.

“No?”

“No,” Remus said. “But you – you’ve been busy.”

“Absolutely,” Mary said. “Honestly, I haven’t had time for myself! But – god, I love my work. I don’t quite get that impression with you.”

“Erm, no,” Remus said. “But my coworkers are – pleasant.” Willing to fuck him senseless and only too enthusiastic when he went to return the favor – but that was just Bruce.

“Good! Mine are, too, really – I think you need decent coworkers, at the very least, even if you love your job more than anything. Coworkers can really make or break your work life.”

“There is a, er…”

“Yeah?” She looked at him curiously. She didn’t suspect anything. Merlin, he felt awful.

“His name’s Bruce.”

Mary laughed. “Like the Monty Python bit?”

“Exactly,” Remus said. “We’ve – become close.” That was one way to put it.

“Oh?”

Remus shrugged. He didn’t know how to put this. Of course, he and Mary weren’t  _ serious, _ but he still felt like shit about it.

“You know that we’re not exclusive,” she said. “We’re not even properly  _ together; _ we’ve shagged once. Do you want to – with him?”

“I… already have.” He couldn’t meet her eyes as he said it.

“Oh,” Mary said. “Well, as I said…”

“It wasn’t planned. It was… unexpected.”

“Sure,” Mary said. She didn’t  _ seem _ upset by this. Maybe he’d totally misread the situation.

“I’m sorry,” he said anyway, because he was.

“Like I said – we’re not exclusive, and we’ve never discussed anything more than shagging once – and now dinner.”

“It was before – I hadn’t gotten your letter yet.”

“I took a while to send it,” Mary said.

“Even so…”

“Remus,” Mary said. “It’s totally fine with me. We’ve slept together once. I’m not bothered.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course,” she said. “What would you do in my position? What if this bloke told you he’s just slept with someone else? Or if I said I have?”

Well, when she put it like that. “I see your point.”

Mary winked at him. “Of course you do. I don’t mind non-exclusive, either. Honestly, I don’t think I can manage an actual, committed, exclusive relationship with my job, and you’re essentially living as a Muggle, anyway. If you want to see where it goes with both of us, I haven’t got any problem with it. Unless he has.”

Remus remembered what Bruce had said about a girlfriend. “I don’t think so. He said – if I had a girlfriend, he’d be fine with it if she were.” Of course, he’d also told Bruce that he didn’t have a girlfriend. And he didn’t, really.

“Then what’s the problem?”

The problem was that he was a bisexual Half-Blood werewolf, and the only person who had known that and still claimed to love him and want him in any sort of romantic or sexual way had proceeded to get himself thrown in Azkaban for betraying and murdering their dearest friends. It wasn’t that he thought that either Mary or Bruce would react that way, but…

“There isn’t one,” he said. “And I don’t mind if you sleep with other people.”

“Good,” Mary said. “So we’re friends who sometimes shag, but who also shag other people.”

“Sounds about right.” And it was a relief.


	7. Chapter 7

It was Lily’s birthday. She would have been twenty-six – she should have been spending the day with Harry and James and her friends, and, instead, she was dead. She’d never celebrate another birthday again, and neither would James.

Remus was starting to go grey. He had lines around his eyes, and Bruce had commented on a new scar the week before (he was fairly certain that Bruce thought he was in some sort of fight club; Remus let him believe it, as it was preferable to the truth). For better or for worse, he was aging. James and Lily would always be twenty-one. And dead.

One day, Harry would be older than they’d ever been. Hell, Harry was probably speaking full sentences now. He’d be about the age where Muggle children started school – he wondered if Harry’s Muggle aunt and uncle would send him to school with Muggle children.

Remus wished he’d been able to care for the boy, but a werewolf was no fit guardian. He knew better than to try to visit. Lily had said time and time again how much her sister hated witches and wizards. Even if Petunia Dursley didn’t know he was a werewolf, she would never trust him around Harry.

Maybe Lily and James had never trusted him, either. Sure, they’d left him alone with Harry a few times, but never for very long. Maybe they’d always thought he was a monster. They hadn’t trusted him enough to make him the Secret-Keeper. (He knew, logically, that he was being irrational, that James and Lily had loved him, that Sirius’s betrayal had actually killed them).

He didn’t know how long he’d stood at James and Lily’s grave when he heard a voice he’d recognise anywhere drawl, “What are you doing here, Lupin?”

Remus stiffened reflexively. “Hello, Severus,” he said.

“What are you doing here?”

“I think you’ll remember that Lily and I were quite good friends.”

“What I remember is that your boyfriend betrayed her and killed her.”

“I didn’t know what he was any more than James and Lily did. Believe me – if I had, I never would have let that happen.”

“There were plenty of signs that Black was a killer,” Severus said, letting the words hang between them.

Remus remembered Sirius’s “prank” as well as Severus – although he hadn’t found out until after the fact. He was acutely aware that they could have both died. That he would have been outed as a werewolf to everyone, even if he’d lived, had James not intervened. That they both owed James their lives. That, despite saving their lives, James had continued to bully Severus even after the fallout of Sirius’s prank.

“You never thought he’d try to kill Lily,” Severus said. After a moment, he added, “Or Potter,” and he spit the name out like a curse. “But you forgot what she was.”

“I haven’t forgotten that Lily was a Muggleborn,” Remus said.

Severus rolled his eyes. “Of course you haven’t.”

“You grew up together, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Severus said.

“Her sister’s got Harry. Is she – like Lily?” He tried not to think about it, most days, because he remembered that Lily and her sister hadn’t gotten along, and he’d loved Harry more than he’d thought possible. He wanted him to grow up in the best possible circumstances, considering that the people who’d loved him the most couldn’t care for him.

“She’s a Muggle.”

“I know that, but – they sent him to live with her. Sirius was his godfather, and they weren’t about to allow me to –”

“You can’t  _ blame _ the Ministry for not wanting to leave a child with a werewolf.”

“I know,” Remus said. As if he wasn’t acutely aware of how people felt about werewolves. “Do you think Harry’s all right?”

Severus looked at him, long and hard, and Remus looked back. He wasn’t about to let Severus Snape unsettle him. “I haven’t spoken to Petunia in nearly a decade.” He conjured a bouquet of lilies and placed them on the grave. “But the other options were a criminal and a werewolf.”

He didn’t wait for Remus to reply before he apparated away on the spot, leaving Remus alone in the cemetery. Remus placed a stone – one he’d picked up outside of his cottage – on the grave. Maybe this year he’d say kaddish for them on their yahrzeit. He wasn’t completely sure if he was allowed to do that – he’d never even properly gone to Hebrew school, and the last time he’d been in a synagogue had been after his mother had died. Maybe he’d ask a rabbi.

He left the cemetery before apparating back to the small wizarding quarter in Manchester. He checked his watch – he was running late. He hurried back to work, and managed to clock back in just in time.

He wished he’d had time to grab lunch, but getting to and from the wizarding quarter had taken longer than he’d anticipated, and he hadn’t even had time to grab chips. He’d just decided to wait until five when he got back to his desk to see a sandwich from Tesco and a note from Bruce.

> _ RJ, _
> 
> _ Missed you at lunch. Hope you like turkey.  _
> 
> _ \- Bruce. _

* * *

He met Bruce at the gay pub near his flat after work and kissed his cheek.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bruce said. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Remus said. “I think so.”

And the wildest thing was that he actually did. Things were still far from perfect, and he still worried about what would happen if and when Bruce inevitably found out that he’d been lying all this time about who he was, still wondered what his life would have been like if he hadn’t trusted Sirius Black, but – well, it was still much better than he’d bargained for. One of these days, he might even give up and let himself lapse into a false sense of security.

Of course, he didn’t know then that Sirius had been innocent of all charges, or that he would see Sirius again – that he would, one day, entertain the idea of marrying Sirius again – or that he’d be dead in a little over a decade, just two years after Sirius.

Things were better off that way


End file.
